Harry Potter and TO BE ANNOUNCED
by Breck
Summary: I couldn't wait for book 6, so I'sums decided to write me own. NEW: Harry arrives at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for the summer; he and Ron worry about getting into Potions. (WARNING: Spoilers galore!)
1. Six Packages

WARNING: This thing is very long. Don't try to read it unless your attention span is phenomenal; I know I can't read chapters with more than 500 words, anyway. Also, I've included about a million details concerning books one through five, so unless you've read them all (or don't plan to read them, or don't mind having surprises spoiled), you might want to avoid this particular fic. Otherwise, read on, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Privet Drive had not seen such a miserable summer in many years. The drizzle had started around mid-April, and continued through May – by the time the local youth had returned from school, the neighbourhood had not seen the sun for three months.  
  
It was now July, and the early morning rain splashed dully against the windowpanes of number four, Privet Drive, whose residents lay sleeping within. Number four was the Dursleys' house, home to Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley. The Dursleys, admittedly, were not the liveliest bunch at the best of times. Vernon, a large, mustached man with a purple face, owned a drill company. Petunia, tall, thin, long-necked and nosy, was his wife, and Dudley, a beefy, blond sixteen-year-old boy, was the Dursleys' only son.  
  
None of the three Dursleys approved of nonsense – they were the straightforward sort, having twice their share of opinions to make up for their lack of imagination. As such, they would have lived quite peacefully and happily together, had it not been for one major disturbance in their domestic lives. This disturbance stayed for the most part in its own room (the smallest in the house), and avoided the Dursleys as fervently as they shunned it. The disturbance's name was Harry Potter, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's nephew, and he was about as different from Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley as one could imagine.  
  
At the moment, Harry was lying on his bed, nursing a headache that had kept him up most of the night. His long legs hung down to the ground over the edge of his mattress, and his left arm lay splayed across the sheets as his right hand massaged his forehead. Harry's fingers ran repeatedly across a most unusual marking: though his shaggy black hair usually hid it, the small, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead made Harry's face a remarkable one. Harry had born the scar since the age of one – the age at which, much to his aunt and uncle's dismay, the boy had been left, orphaned, on their doorstep.  
  
The Dursleys had been most displeased at the prospect of raising Mrs. Dursley's sister's son, and as a result, Harry had never received much welcome or love at number four. Not permitted to ask many questions, Harry had lived until the age of eleven believing the scar was the result of a car crash that had taken the lives of his parents, Lily and James Potter.  
  
Then, in a matter of days, everything had changed. All of a sudden, Harry was receiving letters by owl mail and being visited by an umbrella-wielding giant. The secret – the one his aunt and uncle had worked so hard to keep from him and from the world – was revealed to him. Harry Potter was a wizard, born of magical parents and destined to learn spells and potionmaking at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
Soon the shock had been compounded: not only was Harry an anomaly among Muggles (non-magical folk), but he was also a most remarkable wizard. The lightning scar, he was told, had not come from a car crash, but from the curse of a fearfully powerful and evil wizard, one who had killed his parents and whose name most of the wizarding world feared to utter. Why he had been unable to kill Harry, it seemed no one knew, but for whatever reason, the wizard – Voldemort – had lost his powers and withered away the instant he tried to destroy the boy.  
  
Now, five years to the day since Harry had learned he was a wizard, his room bore witness to the new and remarkable life he had made for himself. His open trunk lay at the foot of his bed, overflowing with parchment scrolls, inkwells, leather-bound textbooks and vials of potionmaking ingredients (everything from wormwood extract to concentrated essence of dragonscale). His Firebolt – a top-of-the line racing broomstick – was propped in the corner, next to his broomstick servicing kit. Harry's school robes hung in the closet, visible through the half-open door. Above his desk hung a large birdcage, in which perched his pet snowy owl, Hedwig, who ruffled her feathers and hooted at the indignity of being cooped up inside.  
  
Harry's brow furrowed at the noise. He opened his bright-green eyes behind his glasses and looked over at Hedwig.  
  
'I'm not stopping you from going out there if you want to,' he said. 'It's none of my business if you want to get soaked.'  
  
Hedwig glared at him, but stayed put.  
  
Harry sighed and closed his eyes again. He had been suffering headaches since the end of the school year – his fifth year at Hogwarts. He guessed they were due to stress: Harry's last year had been a hard one, for a variety of reasons. The fifth year students had spent the year preparing for their OWL (Ordinary Wizarding Level) examinations, which had proved exhausting and demanding. It was no help that their headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had disappeared partway through the year. He had been replaced by their hateful new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge, who had been about as adept at teaching the subject as Harry's second-least favourite teacher – Severus Snape – was at being loveable.  
  
Harry in particular, though, had had a very difficult time. No one else at the school had been there when, the year before, Voldemort had taken him captive and used Harry to speed his return to power. Harry had narrowly escaped with his life, but had witnessed the killing of fellow Hogwarts student Cedric Diggory at the hand of the Dark Lord's servant. The experience was worsened when the minister of magic had refused to believe the story. Nothing was to be done concerning resisting Voldemort, and Harry had spent the summer and the following school year waiting for the attack that he knew would come, but was powerless to stop.  
  
Then there had been the Order of the Phoenix: a secret society formed between a minority group of wizards and witches who knew the truth and planned a resistance against the Dark Lord and his followers. The Order was led by Albus Dumbledore, a powerful wizard, and, people said, the only one Voldemort had ever feared. Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, his best friend Ron's parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, his former teacher, Remus Lupin, and the Hogwarts potionsmaster, Severus Snape, were also among the members. The existence of this group had done little to reassure Harry that the wizarding world was safe from Voldemort, however.  
  
The school year itself had been fraught with frightening events: Harry was threatened with expulsion from the school, Arthur Weasley was nearly killed, and Harry became convinced that Voldemort was controlling his mind in his sleep. It had all culminated in one terrible night, at the Ministry of Magic, when Harry had come face-to-face with Voldemort once more, and a battle had broken out between the Death Eaters – Voldemort's followers – and the members of the Order of the Phoenix. The memories were vivid in his mind: Dumbledore had fought Voldemort, and won – but the Dark Lord was not defeated. More than that, though, Harry had once again seen death: this time that of his beloved godfather, Sirius.  
  
Harry moaned at the sudden resurgence of that memory. Sirius had been the only real family Harry had, though Harry had only known him for two years. Harry was still struggling to deal with Sirius's death, but in the dreary wet of the summer, shut in his room, his godfather's last moments remained fixed at the front of his mind.  
  
A sudden thud broke the silence. Harry, grateful for a distraction, opened his eyes to see a large, tawny owl flapping frantically outside his window. He hurried over and threw open the window, receiving the sodden, angry creature into his room. It landed on his bed with all the grace of a waterlogged wig.  
  
Harry recognized it as one of the Hogwarts owls, and his stomach seemed suddenly to migrate up towards his throat. He hadn't heard from the school since the end of the semester. The owl's arrival could mean only one thing: his examination results were in.  
  
To Harry's surprise, the Hogwarts owl was followed immediately by five other owls, who tumbled over one another in their rush to get out of the wet. The room was soaked within seconds.  
  
'Shhh!' Harry tried frantically to hush the hooting birds, certain that they would wake his aunt and uncle. The last thing he wanted was for Uncle Vernon to burst in on him entertaining seven owls, six of which were soaked to the skin and looking vengeful.  
  
Hedwig came to Harry's rescue. With one loud, threatening hoot, the others were silenced. Harry supposed they realized they had invaded the home of another large and irritated owl, one far less wet and tired than themselves. They eyed her uncertainly.  
  
'Thanks,' he muttered to her. Hedwig responded with a rather withering look.  
  
Harry turned to the owls. One of the new arrivals, a tiny thing now resembling a half-drowned rat, he recognized as Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl. He brightened up immediately. Of course – today was Harry's birthday. He had forgotten completely, probably due to his pounding headache. Harry's birthday had never been celebrated amongst the Dursleys, but ever since he had started his lessons at Hogwarts, Harry had known he could look forward to presents from his new wizarding friends.  
  
'Let's get these off you,' he said to the pathetic lot. He untied the letter from the Hogwarts owl first – it was ominously thick – and then took a package from Pigwidgeon that dwarfed the tiny owl. He attempted to take a letter from a large, great horned owl, but the bird nipped his fingers and hooted angrily.  
  
'Ouch!' Harry said, sucking his fingers. 'What's the matter with you?'  
  
The owl stuck out its leg, allowing Harry to see the address on the letter.  
  
'To Arabella Figg?' Harry read, confused. 'But... she doesn't live here. You've got the wrong house.'  
  
The owl shot him an angry look and shook itself, spraying droplets of water across the sheets and all over Harry.  
  
'Oh, I see,' Harry said, slightly annoyed as he wiped his glasses on his shirtsleeve. 'Just thought you'd come in out of the rain, did you?'  
  
The owl stood a little straighter, but did not reply. Harry decided to ignore it, and proceeded to remove the packages from the three remaining owls, one of which appeared to be another of the Hogwarts stock, bearing a package stamped with the school crest. The other two were unfamiliar.  
  
The parcels were remarkably dry, thanks undoubtedly to the magical waterproof paper used for the envelopes and wrapping. Harry set them all out on his desk as the owls puttered about on his bed, apparently reluctant to go back out into the rain. As and afterthought Harry tossed them some owl food of Hedwig's, realizing too late that now his bed would be soaked and filthy.  
  
He opened Ron's first, and pulled out an envelope, as well as a package wrapped in glossy red paper. Setting the package on his lap, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter, written in Ron's hasty scrawl:  
  
_ Hi Harry!  
Hope the Muggles are treating you all right, my own mum and dad are ready to crack, what with all the madness at the ministry. We're spending the summer with Fred and George in the store. It's as good as a holiday – you wouldn't believe the type of people you get coming in if you stick around long enough. Needless to say, business is great. Diagon Alley is long overdue for a joke shop, as George says. He and Fred are getting rich, though they won't admit it. As for me, I've been practicing Quidditch as often as possible, which should reassure you a bit! This year will be the best, both of us on the team and all – I can't wait!  
Anyway, that's about it for us. Dad's been working mad hours, and Charlie dropped by mid-June. Hope this gets to you all right, you never know with Pig.  
  
Your friend,  
Ron  
_  
_PS: Mum's been worried about you. I told her to forget it, you can handle things. I hope I was right?  
  
PPS: I forgot to tell you, Percy's quit the ministry. Seems the You-Know- Who episode gave him a bit of a shock. He's back with us here now, and we all seem to be getting along okay (or as well as ever, at least). Percy's still a bit quiet, though, and I don't think Mum's quite forgiven him. Me neither, really.  
  
PPPS: Tell me your OWL scores as soon as you get them. I want to make sure I'm in the same classes as you.  
_  
Harry scratched his head. He was happy to hear that Fred and George (Ron's older twin brothers) were having success with their joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which they had recently opened. The Weasleys were infamously poor, and Harry knew how much it would mean to them to have two of their own make it in business. He was also pleased that Percy, Ron's third oldest brother, seemed to have come about – there had been a rift between him and the rest of the family over the past year – and that Ron was making progress on his Quidditch game. Harry and Ron both played Quidditch (a high speed, dangerous sport played on broomsticks) for their school house, Gryffindor.  
  
Ron's first postscript, however, brought all the memories back. Harry shut his eyes. Ron didn't know the half of it. After the terrifying fight at the Ministry, Dumbledore had brought Harry back to his office, where he had 'told him everything'. In light of Voldemort's return, the headmaster seemed to think it time to tell Harry the truth about why the wizard had tried to kill him as an infant.  
  
It seemed there had been a prophecy, made before Harry was born, that spoke of one who would kill – or be killed by – Lord Voldemort. Harry, apparently, fit the description in the prophecy perfectly. This meant, Dumbledore told him, that Harry would eventually have to meet Voldemort in battle, and that, in the end, one of them would have to die. The news had dragged him even further down into depression. Voldemort was one of the most powerful practitioners of magic ever to have lived; Harry was an average teenage wizard who had been lucky so far.  
  
Of course, Harry hadn't told anyone, not even his best friends, Ron and Hermione. As things were, he really didn't feel like receiving any more attention.  
  
Harry shook his head and opened his eyes, slightly annoyed at himself. He had been dwelling on the past year's events for the entire summer, and felt he ought to try to take advantage of this opportunity to be cheerful for a while.  
  
Laying the letter aside, Harry tore open the red package. A large book, smelling of new leather, tumbled onto his lap. He turned it over to read the title: A Modern History of Aurology. Ron had included a note, which read, We'll be in the next edition, eh, Harry?! Harry grinned. He and Ron had always planned to be aurors – dark wizard captors – when they were older. Harry leafed quickly through the pages, watching the moving faces of dozens of rather menacing-looking wizards and witches flip past. He laid the book aside with the letter.  
  
The next package seemed to have been rather hastily wrapped, being bound up with cellotape as though it might have tried to escape. Harry only half doubted this was true. From the Hogwarts crest and the large, deliberate letters spelling out the address, Harry could only guess the package was from Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and professor of the Care of Magical Creatures course. Harry and Hagrid were good friends, but Hagrid had a somewhat alarming affinity for dangerous creatures. It was quite possible that Hagrid had thought it a wonderful idea to send Harry some 'fascinating' sort of animal as a birthday present.  
  
Harry took his time unwrapping the package, half expecting to be bitten at any moment. Fortunately, as he pulled away the wrapping, the most disturbing item he found was what appeared to be a squashed piece of lint, pressed against an envelope on top of a white box. He brushed it aside and opened the envelope. The enclosed letter read:  
  
_ Happy Berthday Harry! Here's your yearly berthday cake. Hope you like it. Also find inclosed one fizzwidget. Got it free at Magical Menagery when I told the shopkeeper I was the Magical Creatures prof at Hogwarts. Afraid it's not particularly interesting, but I wanted to send you something.  
Hope to be seeing you soon.  
From, Hagrid.  
_  
'Find enclosed one what?' Harry said to himself, puzzling over the letter. He thought suddenly of the mysterious lint ball and turned to pick it up off the floor. To his surprise, the thing was vibrating madly, and had fluffed up to the size of a tennis ball. The owls eyed it hungrily, and Harry was forced to scoop it up in a hurry. It vibrated pleasantly in his hand. He stuffed it into his shirt pocket.  
  
Harry looked now to the next parcel, which was neatly wrapped and marked with a large, red-lettered warning: FRAGILE – HANDLE WITH CARE. He didn't need to read the return address to know who it was from: only his friend Hermione Granger could wrap a parcel so neatly. He unwrapped it carefully to find a sturdy cardboard box with a letter pasted to it.  
  
_ Dear Harry,  
I hope you've been having a pleasant summer and have been able to get a bit of a rest – you need it. I've been doing a lot of revision; it's our second-to-last year coming up, and I expect it won't be easy. Thank goodness OWLs are finished, though – I can't wait to get my scores back.  
I'm sure you've heard from Ron. I'm so pleased that Fred and George are doing well – they really took a chance when they didn't finish their seventh year, not many students can get away with that. I can't wait to see their shop, can you? I bet it's amazing, knowing those two.  
I certainly hope things will be back to normal at school this year, but I suppose that's not likely, is it? Everyone's so preoccupied with You- Know-Who's return; I've no idea how we'll get any studying done at all. I hope you're not dwelling on it too much, Harry. There are wizards and witches to look after things, and there's not much we can do, after all. Dumbledore won't let anything happen to us. I hope you remember that.  
Anyway, have a wonderful rest-of-the-summer holidays, and I hope you enjoy the present.  
  
Love from,  
Hermione  
_  
Harry sighed as he finished reading. Hermione was always so sensible, but this time she had it wrong. Harry couldn't help but think constantly of Voldemort. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to meet the wizard again – this time, he assumed, for the last time. He wasn't going to be able to count on Dumbledore and the teachers to protect him, either: the headmaster had made it clear that it was Harry who would have to take on the Dark Lord in the end.  
  
Harry rubbed his forehead to relieve a sudden, painful throbbing. If only Dumbledore had it wrong!  
  
He shook himself and picked up the box. It was somewhat heavy, and something shifted about inside. Harry tucked his fingers under the lid and pulled it open cautiously  
  
Inside, tucked among wads of tissue paper, was what appeared to be a wooden bowl fitted with a plastic lid. A small note was attached, written in Hermione's neat hand: A single-memory Pensieve: it can store one memory at a time, with a maximum capacity of a five-minute memory. DO NOT SPILL!  
  
'Wow, Hermione,' Harry breathed, carefully lifting the bowl out of its paper nest. Liquid sloshed about inside of it. Harry had plenty of experience with Pensieves – not all of it pleasant, admittedly, but he knew how useful they could be. Even a single-memory model must have cost Hermione a fortune. He pulled the lid off, being sure not to spill the silvery liquid within. The contents swirled quietly, and Harry gazed at the thing for a moment before closing it. He wasn't sure what memory he wanted to store in it at the moment – But it will be something about Sirius, he thought.  
  
There were two packages left, including the letter from the school. Harry decided to leave that one until the end. He was not particularly eager to see how he'd done, especially on some of his worse subjects, such as Potions and Divination.  
  
The other unopened package was rectangular and somewhat flat. Harry turned it over to look for a return address, but there was none to be seen. Intrigued, he tore open the brown paper wrapping.  
  
A note fell out onto Harry's lap. He picked it up and read it quietly.  
  
_ Dear Harry,  
I'm afraid I'm not particularly sure what to say; I know how you must be feeling. We're all shaken by Sirius's death, but I'm sure it's been particularly hard for you, Harry. I wanted to tell you he loved you, though I'm sure you know that quite well already. He would want you to be happy.  
I'm sending you something that is probably of little use to you, but it is at least something to remember him by. Please write back to me; Sirius would want you to have someone to confide in, especially now. It's not good for you to go through this alone.  
I hope to be seeing you soon.  
Your friend,  
Remus Lupin  
_  
_PS: Happy sixteenth birthday!_  
  
Harry hardly finished reading the letter before crumpling it into an angry wad and throwing it to the floor. Harry had always liked Lupin, his third- year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and the only werewolf he'd ever met, but their relationship had never been anything like the one he had with Sirius. Lupin did not know how hard it was for Harry these days, either, no matter what he said.  
  
Harry growled in frustration, burying his face in his hands. Insensitive, presumptuous... stupid... He glared at the item remaining in the wrapping. I could just toss it, he thought, but instead he picked the thing up and ripped off the paper.  
  
He found himself looking at – himself. It was a moment before Harry realized what he was seeing. Lupin had sent him a mirror – Sirius's mirror – one of the two Harry and his godfather had planned to use to communicate while Harry was at school. Harry had smashed his own – he hadn't wanted to be faced with the impossible prospect of seeing Sirius's face again.  
  
But Lupin hadn't known that. Harry glared at the thing before turning and throwing it violently against his trunk. To his consternation, the mirror did not break, but fell unscathed onto a forgotten pile of laundry. Two of the owls began to hoot in alarm, and Harry heard his uncle give a loud grunt from the next room.  
  
'All right! Out! All of you!' Harry hissed, and herded the disgruntled owls off the bed and out the window. He pulled the sash down behind them and glared out into the rain. Stupid birds, he thought. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.  
  
He turned back to his now-messy desk. The letter from the school was all that remained. Harry was now eager to open it, though – anything to forget his last 'present'.  
  
Hedwig watched from her perch as Harry broke the wax seal on the envelope and drew out the letter. It was more like a novel, Harry thought, clearing a place among the torn wrappings in which to lay the thick pile of paper. He looked down at the first page.  
  
_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY  
  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International. Confed. of Wizards)  
_  
Harry smiled. It seemed Dumbledore had had all his recognitions reinstated: the previous year, the Minister of Magic, among others, had tried to have many of the wizard's awards and titles dismissed. In true Dumbledore fashion, however, the headmaster had declared he couldn't be bothered with what recognitions were taken from him, as long as his chocolate frog card wasn't discontinued. Harry read on.  
  
_ Dear Mr Potter,  
Please find here enclosed the results of your fifth year Ordinary Wizarding Level (OWL) examinations. ALL RESULTS ARE FINAL.  
Included as well is the application form for your sixth year courses, along with the minimum requisite marks for acceptance into NEWT courses. Any student having received an OWL mark lower than the minimum noted on the course application WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED INTO THAT COURSE.  
Please complete and return all forms no later than July 31. Any questions should be directed to Headmaster Dumbledore or myself.  
  
Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress  
_  
_Exception: Due to the extraordinary circumstances being experienced by the wizarding community as of late, the headmaster and Board of Directors have agreed that all students will be required to take at least one Defense Against the Dark Arts course, regardless of examination results. Please keep this in mind when making your decisions regarding course selection for the coming year.  
_  
Harry reread the letter twice over. The school's current attitude towards the threat of Voldemort appeared to be the complete opposite of last year's, when Harry and his friends had been forced to practice their defensive magic in utmost secrecy. This was a relief. What was not at all relieving, however, was that Harry now had nothing left to distract him from the inevitable: reading his examination results at last. He took a deep breath, and turned to the next page.  
  
This was a most official-looking paper, branded at the top with the seal of the Ministry of Magic as well as the pointed-hat-and-quill trademark of the Wizarding Examinations Authorities. Harry sighed and read on.  
  
_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL EXAMINATIONS  
Examination Results  
_  
_Legend: _

_O = Outstanding _

_E = Exceeds Expectations _

_A = Acceptable _

_P = Poor _

_D = Dreadful _

_T = Troll  
  
Student Name: Potter, Harry  
_  
_Student Results: _

_ASTROLOGY – Overall mark: P _

_CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES – Overall mark: E _

_CHARMS – Overall mark: E _

_DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS – Overall mark: O _

_DIVINATION – Overall mark: D _

_HERBOLOGY – Overall mark: E _

_HISTORY OF MAGIC – Overall mark: D _

_POTIONS – Overall mark: A _

_TRANSFIGURATION – Overall mark: E  
_  
The marks were not exceptionally good – A 'D' in History! Harry thought despairingly. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he deserved it; he had hardly strung together four words. But then, he didn't really need that course to become an auror. Besides, he had an 'Outstanding' in Defense Against the Dark Arts! That had to be worth something. He had also earned quite admirable marks in Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology and Transfigurations – four 'Exceeds Expectations', to be exact. He'd also scraped through in Potions – a surprise.  
  
Feeling slightly better, Harry flipped disinterestedly through the following pages, which were a breakdown of his marks, reviewing his performance on both the written and practical examinations. He stopped only when he reached the course application sheet for sixth year – and was there met with a new dilemma: the prerequisite OWL mark for NEWT Potions was an 'O'.  
  
Under different circumstances, Harry would have been thrilled at the prospect of a year without Potions – a year without Severus Snape breathing down his neck! The fact was, however, that he knew he needed the course to become an auror. And if he couldn't become an auror... Harry had to admit he really had no second option lined up for himself.  
  
Harry sighed and buried his face in his hands. He felt oddly dizzy. Outside, the rain continued to beat against the roofs, windowpanes and walkways of the Dursleys' neighbours' houses. Harry let his mind relax into the grey monotony of the morning. He didn't want to think about Potions. He didn't want to think about Sirius. He didn't want to think about Lupin, or Voldemort, or the Dursleys...  
  
Harry sat up suddenly. Ron. He wanted to think about Ron – and Hermione, too. In fact, he realised, scrambling for a parchment and quill, he wanted to see them right now. Harry began to write.  
  
_ Dear Ron,  
Thanks a lot for the book, it's great. I haven't had the chance to read it yet, but I will as soon as I have a second.  
Listen, the Muggles are no fun at all, as usual. I'm having an awful time over here and I'm afraid I'm going to lose it. What are the chances of me being allowed to come stay with your lot in Diagon Alley? I don't know how I'd get there, but we can work that out later. Just write back quick – things are getting worse over here by the day.  
See you soon (I hope!).  
Your pal,  
Harry  
  
PS: My marks are okay – I can get into DADA, Herbology, Charms, Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration. I'm doomed for Potions, though – just an 'A'! How about you?  
_  
Harry hoped he didn't sound too needy. He stared at the second paragraph for a while, wondering whether he should rework it to sound more casual – less like he was losing his mind. He finally rolled it up, though, and pushed his chair back to look up at Hedwig, who had been watching him with mild interest.  
  
'I need you to take this to Ron,' Harry said. Hedwig shook herself and hooted in dismay.  
  
'Oh, come on. It's not that bad,' he insisted, getting up. 'It's only a bit of water. Besides, you need the exercise.'  
  
The owl flapped her wings in annoyance, but finally did stick out her feathered leg.  
  
'Thanks,' Harry said, tying it quickly. He leapt over some loose scrolls and textbooks on his way to the window, which he threw open hurriedly.  
  
'Please be quick,' Harry said to Hedwig as she landed on his outstretched arm. 'The Weasleys are staying in Diagon Alley, not the Burrow. Think you can handle that?'  
  
Hedwig nipped his fingers affectionately in response. She spread her wings, and within seconds was lost into the drip and drear.  
  
Harry sighed again and rubbed his forehead. He supposed he would have to write thank-you letters to Hermione and Hagrid now – but perhaps not quite yet, he thought, sitting back on the bed. He certainly had nothing to say to Remus Lupin; he was not at all grateful for the gift, and Lupin should have known better than to send it. Harry flopped back and rolled onto his front, his eyes shut.  
  
An odd buzzing sensation against his chest jarred him suddenly into wakefulness.  
  
'Aw, hell,' he grumbled, and dug the fizzwidget out of his pocket. It vibrated noiselessly across his bed, until Harry hit it onto the floor with the back of his hand. He buried his face in his arms.  
  
This had not been the best birthday he'd ever had.


	2. The Portkey at Night

The weather did not improve over the next few days, nor did it deteriorate; rather, the residents of Privet Drive found themselves smothered in a continuous blanket of drear and grey. The majority of them had by this point decided to head out on holiday, in search of more uplifting weather. The Dursleys, however, had not yet given any indication of retreating in the face of the apparently undying onslaught of drizzle. Uncle Vernon continued to head out to work every morning, while Dudley regularly slept in until noon before slinking off to hover about the local park with his friends – a pastime he preferred to refer to as his 'summer job,' when his parents were about.  
  
This left Harry at home with Aunt Petunia, who was as restless as anyone in face of the dreadful weather. She passed the hours with such amusing activities as 'making Harry weed the garden', 'making Harry paint the fence', 'criticizing Harry' and 'complaining about how impossibly lazy Harry is'. Harry himself slogged through these days in a sort of dull trance, his only motivation being the reply from Ron that was surely headed his way. Hedwig had not yet returned from her mission, however, and Harry wondered if she'd encountered more pleasant weather in London and had decided to stay.  
  
It was a particularly dull morning that brought Hedwig home at last. Harry was on his knees in the garden, his arms elbow-deep in waterlogged earth as he wrestled one of the many thriving weeds from amongst Aunt Petunia's begonias, when a familiar hoot brought him out of his now-habitual daze. He wiped his hands carelessly on his jeans, and brushed his damp forelock from his eyes, searching the clouds for the source of the noise.  
  
He spotted her quickly. Harry's snowy owl was a fleck of white against the grey sky, descending towards him in gentle circles. Harry grinned and held out his arm, upon which Hedwig landed obligingly, ruffling her soaked feathers.  
  
'Took you long enough,' Harry said, stroking the owl's beak. Hedwig hooted softly and began preening her right wing.  
  
Spotting the roll of parchment bound to her leg, Harry carried Hedwig over to the garden bench, where he quickly untied it. Relieved of her burden, Hedwig spread her wings and flapped sleepily up towards Harry's room and through the open window. Harry turned to the note, his grubby fingers working it open with eager anticipation.  
  
_ Hi Harry!  
Of course you can come over, it'll be doubly brilliant with you here. Mum was worried when she read your letter, but I know better – you've just had your fill of those bloody Muggles!  
Here's the plan, then: Fred and George will be apparating into your aunt and uncle's back lot, and will leave an old garden gnome as a portkey. (The Muggle type of gnome, not the real sort.) The portkey will be set for August the seventh, at two o'clock in the morning. It'll bring you straight to the store! Be sure to bring all your school things so you won't have to go back before the start of term.  
See you soon!  
_  
_ Your friend,  
Ron  
  
PS: I can't get into Potions either! We'll talk about that when you get here, though.  
  
PPS: I invited Hermione over, as well. She'll be getting here a day before you do. Should make for some fun times, as long as we don't let her go schoolbook shopping before we've had a few weeks of freedom!  
_  
Harry breathed deeply and sat back. For the first time in days – no, in weeks – he felt happy. The grey sky suddenly didn't seem as gloomy, the air not as heavy, and the future not as hopeless. Even being unable to get into Potions didn't seem as bad if he wasn't alone in his misery. Everything was alright now – he would be spending the rest of the summer holidays in Diagon Alley, with Hermione and Ron!  
  
'You, boy! What are you sitting about for?' Aunt Petunia squawked suddenly from the back door, her long neck craned about to glare at him properly. 'It's nearly ten o'clock, the whole world is working but you! Those weeds aren't about to uproot themselves!'  
  
Harry felt the corners of his mouth lift in a grin, which sent his aunt retreating inward with a somewhat disconcerted '_hmph_.' Harry chuckled quietly. Now that he would only have to put up with it for another day, even his aunt's constant pestering wasn't about to upset him. He rolled up his sleeves and got back to work.  
  
It occurred to Harry that this task would be far easier were he permitted to do it magically – but he knew very well that this was too risky. The fact that he was still an underage wizard wasn't his sole reason to hold back – not only did the Dursleys disapprove of anything even remotely resembling magic, but anyone, at any time, could peer in over the garden fence and see him wielding his wand. _No,_ Harry thought with a smile, _I'll have to do it the slow way._ And so the rest of the morning, as well as much of the afternoon, found Harry hunched over his aunt's flowers, contentedly tugging at weeds as the drizzle fell softly about him.

* * *

'A _what_?' Uncle Vernon demanded through a mouthful of roast lam, that evening at supper.  
  
'A portkey,' Harry said plainly, slicing a tiny boiled potato into quarters. 'Wizard stuff.'  
  
Vernon bristled, his great, trembling jowls growing red.  
  
'I will have no such nonsense under my roof,' he growled. 'No, boy, we've had enough of your hocus-pocus. If you want to stay with us, you'll do things properly.'  
  
Harry chewed his potato slowly. He recognized this as an empty threat. Indeed, his aunt and uncle would find it very difficult to have Harry thrown out of their house: many influential wizards – Dumbledore included – had worked hard to ensure Harry's protection at the Dursleys', and would not easily be pressed to take him elsewhere. However, Harry felt his own life would be far easier if he avoided making the Dursleys excessively furious with him.  
  
'No one will know,' he said. 'It'll be late at night. Besides, the thing's just a plain old garden gnome. Who's going to notice that?'  
  
Petunia's brow wrinkled as she patted her lips with her serviette. 'Garden gnomes! What will the neighbours think of us? Why couldn't it be something tasteful, like a cherub? Or a little fawn?'  
  
'That's not the point,' Vernon declared loudly, pounding the table with his fist. 'The point is, _this_ brat will be out there, in our back lot, with all his... _freakish paraphernalia_, as good as screaming out to the world that we are sheltering a social misfit of the very worst kind!'  
  
Across the table from Harry, Dudley snickered, fixing Harry with his beady eyes and wiping an acne-peppered cheek with the back of his hand. Harry ignored his cousin and drew himself up.  
  
'It doesn't really matter what you think,' he said casually. 'I'm going, and that's that.'  
  
Petunia gasped and looked to Vernon, who appeared to have been rendered speechless.  
  
'I'll have all my things in the backyard by one in the morning, tomorrow night,' Harry said, rising from the table, his plate in hand. 'I expect you lot will be in bed at that time, so there's really no need to trouble yourselves about anything.'  
  
He made his way over to the sink, where he began to rinse off his dishes.  
  
'No need to trouble ourselves!' Vernon hissed, having recovered his voice. 'What, and leave you to muck the thing up, and embarrass us in front of the whole neighbourhood? I think not! No, boy, don't count on me taking my eyes off you for a moment. You'll have to be far cleverer if you hope to escape the watch of Vernon Dursley!'  
  
Harry smiled to himself as he quietly left the kitchen and began ascending his stairs to his bedroom. He had made his uncle somewhat angry, that much was certain – but there really was nothing any of them could do to stop Harry from leaving.  
  
He grinned broadly as he swung into his room and shut the door behind him. He had a lot of packing to do.

* * *

Late the next night, Harry found himself once again staring up at the sky from the Dursley's back lot. Miraculously, the grey clouds had parted over the house, leaving a wavering strip of open sky in their place. Harry gazed at the few stars he could see, realizing that the last time he had done so was during the previous school year, perhaps during his Astronomy exam. (_And what an eventful test that had been..._) Harry stroked Hedwig absently, wondering if the sky was clear over Hogwarts, and what business the resident witches and wizards might be up to.  
  
'This is ridiculous!' Petunia hissed to Vernon, from behind Harry. 'Do you know what this looks like? Why, just like we've had decided to set up a circus in our yard, that's what!'  
  
'Of course it's ridiculous!' Vernon growled. 'Everything that louse does is ridiculous! But what am I to do, Petunia? What am I to do? He's out of control!'  
  
'You've been too soft with him, Vernon, I've always said that...'  
  
'Yes, dear, I know it. If I could have these years back, why, I'd have boxed him about the ears so many times, he'd be hearing bells in his sleep!'  
  
'And he'd have deserved every moment of it, that's for certain.'  
  
Harry scratched Hedwig's neck. His aunt and uncle's banter hardly bothered him anymore; they had no real power over him, no real ability to induce fear in their nephew. Harry had faced the darkest of the dark wizards, he'd seen people he loved die – no, the Dursleys were no longer anything to be afraid of.  
  
He did agree with Petunia with regard to one matter, however: with all his wizarding gear arranged about him, Harry really did look like he was planning on organizing a circus. Harry hadn't been quite sure just how much contact he would have to have with each item in order for it to be carried along by the portkey, so he'd tied himself to everything he was bringing along. This included his trunk – upon which he was now sitting – his broomstick, and Hedwig's cage, among other things.  
  
The portkey itself had arrived the previous night, when even Harry was asleep. They had found it that morning, carefully placed beside a shrubbery, and looking quite inconspicuous within the garden. The Dursleys had found little reason to complain, much to their disappointment – the offensive object didn't appear very magical at all.  
  
Vernon checked his watch impatiently. 'Ten minutes,' he said gruffly, and turned to glare at Harry, as though the time itself had been an insult to him, and one of Harry's invention.  
  
Harry's heart lept. Ten minutes was nothing at all! In ten minutes, he'd be whirling away towards London, towards Diagon Alley, towards Ron, and Hermione, and all the wizarding world. In ten minutes, he'd be –  
  
'Hullo there!' came a cheerful voice, all of a sudden.  
  
Harry, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia all spun around in terror to face intruder. From across the fence, what appeared to be a bespectacled ghost gazed curiously at them.  
  
'Who are you?' Uncle Vernon demanded, panic rising in his voice, as he backed up slowly in an attempt to hide Harry and his belongings.  
  
'Murray Muggins,' said the ghost, ever cheerful. (In fact, Harry realized, this was no ghost at all, but an extraordinarily pale man.) 'Been your next- door neighbour for years and years! We've never met, of course, seeing as I can only leave the house at night. Skin condition, you see.'  
  
'Ah,' said Vernon, hardly reassured. 'Er... just out for a midnight stroll, then?'  
  
'Oh, I'm doing some gardening, actually,' Murray Muggins replied. He peered over at Harry. 'What's all that stuff for?'  
  
'Erm... nothing!' Vernon blurted.  
  
'Just... just airing out some antiques,' Harry said quickly. 'And we... we heard about a forecasted meteor shower tonight, so we thought we'd see if we could spot anything while we're out here.'  
  
'Oh!' Mr. Muggins squinted up at the sky. 'Shame about the clouds, really.'  
  
'Yes, quite a shame,' Harry said. He hoped that Vernon or Petunia would intervene before long; they'd all be in trouble if the man wasn't gone by the time the portkey was activated.  
  
'Erm...' Petunia said nervously. 'Mr. Muggins, have you seen the... er... snapdragons we have growing in the front? They've come up so nicely.'  
  
'Well, no, I haven't,' the man said, with interest. 'Why, I never leave my back lot, really. I'd love to take a look, if you have a moment.'  
  
Vernon and Harry watched Aunt Petunia lead Mr. Muggins around to the front yard, their voices floating back in muffled waves: '_You_ _see, Mr. Muggins, they do so well on this side of the house._'; '_Why_,_ it's true, these plants are thriving!_'; '_Feel_ _free to look around, Mr. Muggins! Take your time!_'  
  
Vernon glared at his nephew, his eyes popping from his flushed face like two great eggs.  
  
'Do you know how close you came to ruining us forever, boy?' he growled. 'If he'd come a few minutes later...! I ought to break your scrawny neck, you filthy ingrate!'  
  
Harry picked up the gnome from between his feet, where he'd placed it. Surely it would be two o'clock any minute now... Harry wrapped one arm tightly around it, while Hedwig perched on the other one.  
  
'You ought to thank your lucky stars you won't be around tomorrow morning! You'd be in for the whipping of your life, mark my words!'  
  
'_And such lovely primroses! How do you do it?_'  
  
'_Oh, really, I haven't a clue! It must be all the rain we've had!_'  
  
'_Come now, Mrs. Dursley, no need to be modest about it!_'  
  
Vernon continued to glare at Harry. 'When will that thing start working?! I haven't got all night! You'd better hope it's not a dud, boy, or you'll be sorry...'  
  
Harry closed his eyes. Yes, he certainly did hope it wasn't a dud... If he wasn't with Ron and Hermione tomorrow... He shut his eyes tighter. _Please, please..._  
  
And all of a sudden, Harry felt a familiar jolt, as though some invisible hook were dragging him forward by the navel. The world seemed to spin, and he felt the rope tighten about him as something that was not quite wind whipped through his hair. Hedwig's talons gripped his arm, and just before Harry felt he was about to be sick, the spinning and rushing stopped as jarringly as they had begun, leaving Harry to sprawl forward onto a warm, wooden floor. 


	3. At Home With Friends

Hello again! The following two chapters were originally written as one, but this turned out to be way too long too digest. I've decided to split it up into two bite-sized chappies as a result. Hope you like 'em!

* * *

'Harry! You made it!'  
  
Harry groaned. His glasses had flown from his face upon landing, and his trunk had fallen open on his ankles. Squirming out of the mess of his wizarding gear, he began searching the floor with his hands as various indistinguishable blurs spoke enthusiastically from all around the room.  
  
'We were worried the portkey wouldn't work, seeing as Fred and George made it... Thought it might just turn you into a parrot, or something,' said one of the figures.  
  
'Ron has no faith. Really, us? Pull a prank like that? Never.'  
  
A door to Harry's right creaked open, and yet another blur entered the room. "Oh, has he arrived? How lovely! I'll make you all up something to eat.'  
  
'Oh, Harry... Here you are.'  
  
Someone bent down next to Harry, and a moment later his glasses were being placed in his hand. He sat up and positioned them on his nose, and the room came quickly into focus. Hermione was squatting beside him, smiling.  
  
'Honestly, Harry,' she said, standing up. 'There must be something you can do about those glasses. Haven't you learned the Epoximus charm?' She sighed, brushing off her jeans with her hands. 'I suppose I'll have to teach you. You really ought to start researching these things for yourself, though.'  
  
'Oh, lay off it, Hermione,' said Ron from where he sat, atop a thin wooden bed. 'He's not been here ten seconds and already you're lecturing him.'  
  
'Thanks, though,' Harry said, smiling up at Hermione. 'For the glasses, I mean.'  
  
'This one leaves a trail of disaster wherever he goes,' said a voice from behind Harry. 'No consideration whatsoever. And us having to clean up after him!'  
  
'Criminal.'  
  
Harry turned to see Ron's twin brothers – George and Fred – waving their wands at the heap of robes and parchment he'd inadvertently dumped on the floor. A pair of his socks danced deftly through the air, as one of his textbooks flapped maniacally towards his open trunk.  
  
'Honestly,' Hermione said, shaking her head. She sat on the bed next to Ron and motioned for Harry to come join them.  
  
'Where are we, anyway?' Harry wondered, brushing himself off. He positioned himself next to Ron; the bed was actually surprisingly comfortable, despite its humble appearance.  
  
'Oh, this is Fred and George's apartment,' Ron explained. 'We're directly above the shop.'  
  
'Really?' Harry said. He looked about him. _This_ room certainly didn't look like it belonged in a joke shop. It was simple, warm and clean, with wood- paneled walls, a pair of small beds, a rather unassuming stone hearth, and various paintings of the countryside adorning the walls. (Wizard paintings, of course – in one, a horse galloped merrily about a snowy pasture, snorting occasionally and gazing with mild interest at the dragon that lay snoring in a corner of its enclosure.)  
  
'Haven't had a chance to redecorate yet,' Fred explained, as he sent Harry's quills cartwheeling into his trunk.  
  
'Naw, it's not that,' George said. He waved his wand distractedly, and Harry watched his Potions set bounce cheerfully into the last remaining space. 'Mum's been living here a while now. She likes to keep a couple of rooms –'  
  
'Boring,' Fred finished. The trunk slammed shut.  
  
'It's not boring,' Harry said quickly. 'It's kind of nice, actually. I like it.'  
  
'Good, 'cause it'll be your home for the next month,' Fred said. 'You and Ron are in this room.'  
  
'Try to treat it better than your trunk,' George said, and grinned.  
  
At that moment, the door swung open again, and a red-haired, freckled girl ran in to smother Harry in a hug.  
  
'Harry!' she exclaimed, and gave him a squeeze.  
  
'Oof!' Harry said, slightly shocked at the unexpected display of affection. 'Nice to see you, too, Ginny.'  
  
Ron's younger sister released him with a grin and went to sit on the other bed. She was quickly joined by George and Fred. Ginny Weasley certainly had changed over the last few years, Harry noted – there had been a time when she wouldn't have made eye contact with him, let alone hug him. It seemed she'd gotten over her shyness.  
  
'Oh, what's that?' Ginny asked suddenly, pointing at the floor. They all turned to stare at the vibrating ball of fluff that was ricocheting between the two beds.  
  
'Oh, for Pete's sake...' Harry got down on his knees and quickly had the fizzwidget in his grasp.  
  
'It's so sweet!' Ginny cooed. 'Can I see it, Harry?'  
  
Harry handed it to her. 'You can have it if you want. Hagrid sent it to me – it's a fizzwidget.'  
  
'Oh, I won't keep it if it was a gift,' Ginny replied, stroking the thing. 'What sort of animal is it?'  
  
'Well, I'm not sure that it's an animal at all,' Harry said, somewhat helplessly. 'More like an enchanted ball of fluff, as far as I can tell.'  
  
'What's its name?'  
  
'Name?' Ron asked incredulously. 'Ginny, it's a piece of lint!'  
  
'Well, it ought to have a name.' She stroked it thoughtfully for a moment. 'I know – we'll call it Henry.'  
  
Ron shook his head, staring at his sister. 'Mental!' he muttered.  
  
'Where's Hedwig?' Harry asked, suddenly remembering his real pet.  
  
'I think she flew out the window right after you landed,' Hermione said. 'She looked a little put-off.'  
  
'Doesn't like traveling by portkey, it would seem,' George observed.  
  
'Me neither, really,' Harry admitted, rubbing his bruised knees.  
  
The door swung open once again.  
  
'Here we are,' said Mrs. Weasley, Ron's mother, entering with a large tray. 'Nice hot drinks for everyone, and there're some biscuits there, as well.' She looked about for a place to set down her burden. 'Boys, would you...?'  
  
'Sure thing, Mum,' Fred said quickly, and with a wave of his wand, a rather crooked coffee table appeared between the beds with a _poof_. Mrs. Weasley set her tray down and smiled at Harry.  
  
'It is nice to have you with us again, Harry,' she said fondly. 'Now, you lot, don't stay up too much later. I'm sure Harry would like to get a bit off sleep.'  
  
'No worries, Mum,' George assured her, and Mrs. Weasley departed through the door, the younger wizards and witches calling '_thank you_' after her.  
  
Harry took a steaming mug from the tray. The drink appeared to be hot, foamy milk, but smelled sweetly of spices and rum. He sipped it and sighed contentedly – everything inside him felt immediately warm and sleepy.  
  
'I hope it's no trouble, having me here, and all,' Harry said.  
  
'Trouble? Nah, not for us, anyhow,' Fred said, and took a swig from his own mug. 'Might be trouble for you, though – we'll put you to work in the store.'  
  
'Yeah, you know those slave labour laws put through by the Ministry back in 1856?' George said. 'They don't apply in this place. We'll work you ragged.'  
  
'Oh, shut up,' Ron muttered. 'Don't worry, Harry, it's real fun. ...But you don't have to work if you don't want to,' he added quickly.  
  
'Sure I do,' Harry said. 'It sounds great.'  
  
'It is,' Hermione said, nodding. 'Some of the charms are actually rather clever.'  
  
'Ha! Listen to this one,' Fred snorted. 'Only yesterday she was trying to "correct" the spells on the Spitting Cherrychops.'  
  
Harry laughed along with everyone else, as Hermione said indignantly, 'Well, I thought you could've done the colour-change charms a little better, that's all. Honestly.'  
  
'Honestly!' Ron and Harry repeated simultaneously, and laughed even harder. Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up.  
  
'I'm going to bed,' she said. 'Hopefully you two will be feeling a little more mature, come morning.'  
  
'I think we'd all better be off,' George said, rising from his seat. Fred followed him, as did Ginny, though somewhat reluctantly. The six of them quickly said 'good-night', and Harry and Ron were left alone.  
  
'Well!' Ron said, stretching. 'Feel like dozing off?'  
  
'Yeah, actually,' Harry yawned. He hadn't noticed how sleepy he was until then.  
  
'Alright. Which bed?'  
  
'This one's fine,' Harry sighed, flopping back. This particular bed was not intended to be lain across width-wise, however, and his head dangled over the far side like a ripe fruit from a limb. Ron reluctantly moved over to the other bed.  
  
Harry rearranged himself sleepily, pulling the covers over himself with no regard for the fact that he was still dressed in his t-shirt and jeans. He didn't notice Ron turning out the lights – his eyes were closed, and his mind, drifting. Within minutes, he was oblivious to the world; even Henry, buzzing away in his pocket, was incapable of disturbing his peace.


	4. At Home With Friends, continued

Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of gentle hooting. He opened his eyes reluctantly, buried deep beneath the woolen blankets of the little bed and feeling warmer and happier than he had in ages. Hedwig was perched at the foot of his bed, staring curiously at her master.  
  
'I was having a good dream,' Harry muttered, and reached for his glasses, before suddenly realizing that he'd never taken them off. He sat up and looked about him. Early morning sunshine framed the open window to his left, bathing the entire room in a warm glow. Harry sighed contentedly. He could almost believe that the past few months had been nothing more than a long, bad dream. Surely, nothing too terrible could happen in a place like this.  
  
Ron grunted sleepily from Harry's right, stretching and rolling over beneath his covers.  
  
'S'not morning already, is it?' he mumbled.  
  
Harry threw a pillow at him. 'Get up, you. I want to see the store.'  
  
Ron grumbled something inaudible and sat up, his flame-red hair sticking out at impossible angles. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  
  
'Couldn't have had more than three hours' sleep,' he yawned.  
  
'It'll have to do you,' Harry said, throwing his covers off him. He made his way towards his trunk, pulled it open, and began rummaging about for something to wear.  
  
Ron yawned again. 'Breakfast first,' he said. 'I'm not showing you the store 'til we've had something to eat.'  
  
'Fine,' Harry said, tugging a fresh t-shirt on over his head. He thought suddenly of Mrs. Weasley's cooking and realized that he was rather hungry, as well. 'Let's hurry it up though... Do you think the others are awake yet?'  
  
'Well, Fred and George are, for sure,' Ron said, pulling last night's clothes off and tossing them haphazardly into a corner. 'They have to open the store at eight o'clock, and they do like to read the paper beforehand. Mum's probably up, too.'  
  
'How about your dad?' Harry wondered. 'Is he around?'  
  
'Oh, he's probably already at work,' Ron said. 'Things are just mad at the Ministry these days, now that everyone's acknowledged You-Know-Who's return.'  
  
Harry shuddered involuntarily. He didn't want to think too much about Voldemort right now, not when he was suddenly feeling cheerful again after so much gloominess.  
  
'Right... This way,' Ron said, and led Harry through the wooden door. It opened up into a narrow but well-lit corridor, lined with many mismatched doors and more wizard paintings. Harry tried to get a good look at them as Ron led him past, but it seemed most of the subjects were having a lie-in; the only creature that stirred within the frames was a small, brown rabbit, which twitched its whiskers at Harry and then bounded swiftly away.  
  
Ron led Harry down a creaky, winding staircase, and all at once the smells of baking met Harry's nostrils. He breathed in hungrily and trotted down the stairs with a little more enthusiasm.  
  
'Look who it is!' said George, as Harry and Ron stepped off the bottom of the staircase and into a compact and slightly messy kitchen. Ron's older brother was seated at a table, across from his twin. Mrs. Weasley looked up from the stove, where she was tending to a veritable herd of self-stirring pots.  
  
'Oh, boys, you're up bright and early,' she exclaimed. 'Sit down, now, I already made up breakfast for these two and there's plenty to go around.'  
  
Harry and Ron thanked her and sat down next to George and Fred, respectively. Fred was leafing through the _Daily Prophet_ while sipping his tea.  
  
'This is rubbish,' he said, disgusted. 'Pure sensationalism, this is. Why, they're using You-Know-Who's return to sell papers, that's all.'  
  
'Now, now,' Mrs. Weasley said, bringing a fresh pot of tea over to the table. 'It's better to be on the alert than to refuse to believe these things are happening.'  
  
'Really, Mum, the stuff they put in that paper... Most of it's rumours and fairy tales,' George said.  
  
'It's true,' Fred agreed. 'Take this for instance...' He folded the paper and began to read an article on the front page. '"Death Eaters attack Jaadoo Academy of Magical Arts in Bengal, India... No survivors were found." Really, Death Eaters in India? What on Earth could they want there?'  
  
'And how convenient that there were no survivors,' George added. 'There're no witnesses that way, no one to verify the story.'  
  
'Boys!' Mrs. Weasley scolded. 'You really ought not to speak like that. What if it is true? There would be hundreds of parents without their children this morning, and you two scoffing at them!'  
  
'Calm down, Mum,' George said. 'I've never heard of the school, it probably doesn't even exist. And besides, the school year hasn't started yet – even if the attack had happened, how many people could there have been hanging about?'  
  
'Hmph,' said Mrs. Weasley, and laid a plate of crumpets on the table before turning to ascend the staircase. 'I'm going to go see if the girls are getting up – I'll have to make another batch if they are.'  
  
'Your mum's the greatest,' Harry commented, taking a bite out of a steaming hot crumpet.  
  
'Yeah, she is pretty cool,' Ron agreed.  
  
Harry read the back of Fred's paper from across the table. Indeed, it did seem every article bore some relation to Voldemort. Some really were rather ridiculous: _Lightning strikes Puddlemere United's star beater during practice – could this be the work of the Dark Lord?_, _Ruined mandrake crop in Spain blamed on Death Eaters_, and _Lowest ever NEWT scores by English wizarding students could have been the result of Dark Arts interference_ were only some of the headlines.  
  
Harry was distracted from his reading by what sounded like a stampede of elephants descending the staircase.  
  
'Good morning!' Ginny exclaimed, jumping from the fifth step from the top to land with a _bang_ on the kitchen's wooden floor. 'I had the best sleep ever, didn't you?'  
  
Hermione followed a moment later, yawning. 'I _really_ shouldn't stay up so late,' she muttered. 'Lord knows I'll be getting no sleep this year at school – I ought to be resting up while I can.'  
  
'Oh, shut up, who can think about school this early in the summer?' Ron muttered. 'You're obsessed, that's your problem.'  
  
Hermione glared condescendingly at Ron and sat down beside him at the table. 'Obsessed or not, I'm not the one who can't get into Potions this year.'  
  
Ron shrunk into his chair. 'Don't want to talk about that right now,' he mumbled.  
  
'Don't want to talk about what?' Mrs. Weasley demanded, apparating suddenly into the kitchen.  
  
'Oh, nothing,' Fred said innocently. 'Just about how he totally blew his Potions OWL exam and won't be allowed to spend another tender afternoon in the presence of the delightful Severus Snape ever again.'  
  
Mrs. Weasley bristled. 'Ron! You've really put things off far too long. It's time to send your course selection away, before all the classes get filled up.'  
  
'They won't get filled up, Mum –'  
  
'And it really is disgraceful how poorly you did in Potions,' she continued. 'It's such an important subject, after all! Why, your father and I never had any trouble in that class.'  
  
'Well, you weren't taught by Snape,' Ron muttered. 'He hates all Gryffindors, Mum, honestly! I was doomed from the start!'  
  
'Hermione did very well,' Mrs. Weasley stated angrily. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, but she's a Gryffindor, too.'  
  
Hermione blushed as Ron mumbled something about bookworms and teachers' pets.  
  
'It's your own fault for not studying harder, and that's all there is to it,' Mrs. Weasley said. 'It's time you stopped making excuses and just owned up to the fact that you ought to have tried harder if you wanted to get into OWL Potions. Really, Ronald.'  
  
'But... Harry didn't make it in, either!' Ron protested. 'And everyone knows he's a pretty good student.'  
  
'Unlike you, Harry has dozens of excuses,' Mrs. Weasley stated, gazing sympathetically at Harry. 'What a nightmarish year you must have had, Harry! I can't imagine what it must have been like to have to focus on your examinations with all those horrible things happening around you.'  
  
'What about me? Horrible things happened to me, too,' Ron protested. 'Dad got bit by the snake, remember? And that night at the Ministry...'  
  
'Don't remind me!' Mrs. Weasley muttered, waving her hands about as though to shoo away the memories. 'But whatever happened to you, Ronald, was nothing compared to what poor Harry had to go through. You ought to stop being so self-centred.'  
  
'It wasn't so bad, really,' Harry said, feeling his face grow red from the excessive attention. 'I should've done better on that exam, as well.'  
  
Mrs. Weasley glared at Ron. 'You see? He owns up to his mistakes! Unlike _some_ young wizards I know!'  
  
'Mum!'  
  
'You two really ought to send off your applications, though,' Hermione interjected. 'I sent mine off ages ago, and already got my acceptance letters and book lists.'  
  
'But what about Potions?' Ron said mournfully.  
  
'You'll just have to talk to the teachers once you get to school,' Hermione said sternly. 'Honestly, Ronald, they were pretty clear in the letters that students who didn't meet the entrance criteria to OWL courses would not be admitted.'  
  
'This stinks,' Ron said, burying his face in his hands. Harry felt equally upset – the only teacher he'd be able to talk to regarding admission to Potions class would be Snape himself, and Harry didn't even want to think about the man's reaction to a suggestion that Harry be given special treatment.  
  
'Stop fretting,' Fred said, putting down the _Prophet_. 'George and I did much worse on the OWLs than you two did, and things turned out great for us.'  
  
'I don't want to own a joke shop, though,' Ron moaned. 'I want to be an auror!'  
  
'Are you suggesting it takes less smarts to run _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ than it does to track down dark wizards?' Fred demanded indignantly.  
  
'Oh, be quiet, all of you!' Mrs. Weasley barked. 'Ron and Harry, why don't you go send off your applications now and be done with it?'  
  
Harry nodded, and he and Ron rose from the table to go deposit their dishes in the sink. (The faucet rinsed them off on its own, then sent the plates flying into the dish towel, which caught them and quickly dried them off before stacking them neatly in a pile.)  
  
'I hate Potions,' Ron moaned, climbing the staircase lethargically. 'Why am I so upset about not being able to get in? You'd think it'd be the best thing that could've happened.'  
  
'I know,' Harry muttered. 'Damn that Snape – I'm sure we didn't learn as much as we should've with him.'  
  
'Huh... I'd believe that if Hermione hadn't gotten an "O" on the exam,' Ron said. 'But then, she is a bit of a freak.'  
  
'Makes me wish _I _was a freak,' Harry said, as he and Ron entered their bedroom. They both began rummaging about for their application packages in dejected silence.  
  
'Got it,' Ron said, pulling out a rather crumpled packet of papers and sitting down on his bed.  
  
'Mine, too,' Harry said, a moment later, and fell back onto his bed with his own package, quill in hand.  
  
'Right... I can get into OWL Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology,' Ron said, squinting down at his paper.  
  
'Me, too,' Harry said. 'There're other classes, though, too – ones we haven't had before.'  
  
'What, you mean like this "Evolution of Magical Theory" thing?' Ron wondered.  
  
'Yeah, but you need OWL History to get into that one...'  
  
They poured over their packages for a good five minutes, rapidly dismissing all the new classes as worthless or impossible to get into.  
  
'To be completely honest, the only one I really care about is Defense Against the Dark Arts,' Harry admitted after a while.  
  
'Me too, I guess,' Ron agreed. 'I wonder who's teaching this year?'  
  
'Oh, God... Anybody would be better than that Umbridge woman,' Harry muttered. 'I'd pick Snape over that cow.'  
  
Ron's eyes widened. 'Harry... you don't think Snape could've gotten the job at last, do you?'  
  
Harry shuddered. 'I hope not... That's the only class where I actually care about learning the material.'  
  
Ron nodded worriedly. 'Let's just take what we can get into, then,' he said. 'At least we'll be in the same classes, even if the teachers turn out to be mad.'  
  
Harry agreed, and quickly had his paper filled out. It wasn't nearly as many courses as he usually took – but then, perhaps he'd be able to fit Potions into his schedule later on, that way...  
  
'Pig can deliver these,' Ron said, taking Harry's paper. 'Let's just send them off and forget about it for the rest of the summer.'  
  
Harry couldn't have agreed more. He and Ron returned to the kitchen, tied the rolls of parchment to Ron's tiny owl's legs, and sent the excited creature hooting joyfully through to window and towards Hogwarts. Harry watched the bird rise up over the roofs of the shops, disappearing quickly from view.  
  
'Glad that's over with,' Ron said with a sigh.  
  
'Me too,' Harry agreed. He did feel slightly more relaxed now – at least it was out of his hands. There was nothing else he could do about the matter until school started.  
  
'Um... hello,' said a voice from behind Harry. 'Nice to see you again, Harry.'  
  
Harry turned to meet the source of the voice. Much to his surprise, Ron's brother Percy stood at the foot of the stairs, awkwardly clutching a heap of folders.  
  
'Oh!' Harry exclaimed, caught off guard. 'Um... nice to see you, too, Percy.'  
  
Percy drew himself up a little. 'I'm afraid I won't be around much today. I... er... have a lot of filing to do... for the shop, and all... I don't think I'll be done before this evening.'  
  
'That's... um... too bad,' Harry remarked, and felt his arms cross involuntarily.  
  
'See you later, then, Percival,' Fred said loudly, from where he sat. 'Wouldn't want to keep you away from those files, now, would we?'  
  
Percy blinked and absently tried to rearrange the folders in his arms. 'Right... I'll do that... I'll go right now.'  
  
'Good man,' George said, not looking up from the paper he was reading. Percy bowed slightly and was gone through a door in an instant.  
  
'Is he alright?' Harry wondered.  
  
'Yeah, he's just a bit shaken up from the You-Know-Who episode,' Ron muttered. 'He's been like that all summer. Honestly, he doesn't know how to act if he's not being a pompous twit, and he sure can't be one of those these days.'  
  
'You ought to be nicer to him, though,' Hermione said. 'He's not a bad person, really. He does try.'  
  
'Huh!' Fred muttered. 'He's just embarrassed, that's all.'  
  
'As he should be,' George said, draining the last of his tea. 'Right... I'm ready to open up shop. Who's with me?'  
  
They all were, barring Mrs. Weasley, who opted to stay back and finish some work. Harry wondered what sort of work she had in mind; he hadn't asked Ron if the Order of the Phoenix was still operational. He followed the others through a door – not the one Percy had gone through, but one near the stove – and entered into one of the most unbelievable rooms he'd ever seen. 


End file.
